False hopes

I’m in great agony. And a hundred percent chance could be that you don’t know. Because you don’t care.

I’m crying again. Every time a thought of you comes creeping up on me I curl up and sob. Last night I told myself that the suffocating knot in my chest did not stem at all from the realization that nothing had and ever transpired between us;

that everything I knew and thought had happened were merely in my head;
that I was nothing and no one.

There wasn’t anything there to begin with. 
My feelings alone created the illusion that I alone was seeing.
And I don’t matter. I don’t matter. I don’t matter. I don’t matter.

I convinced myself that these tears were primarily due to my damaged pride. Due to a tainted dignity.

But what do I do when you’re the lone thing my stupid heart aches for?

It really is pathetic.
It really is pathetic how I continue to unrequitedly care about you.
It really is pathetic how tears still continue to stream down my face despite this familiar encounter—this cyclical encounter with pain and the pang of realizing that this was once again one-sided.

This pain is killing me. And I’m practically dying.

I wish I could disappear and run away.


I will never love again


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